


Four Kisses

by clubstocrews23



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, at least I think so, but it's definitely fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 10:59:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18659080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clubstocrews23/pseuds/clubstocrews23
Summary: Filippo Sava isn't Elia's first, but he will be his last.





	Four Kisses

**i.**

The first time Elia kissed a boy, he didn’t get a name. He, Martino, and Giovanni headed down to the skate park after classes, even though Gio was the only one in the group proficient at the pastime. They planned to record stories for Instagram. While filming Gio performing tricks on his phone, Elia caught the eye of a boy with curly black hair working the halfpipe and felt his breath catch in his throat. 

It wasn’t like Elia hadn’t ever looked at boys before, because he certainly had, but this time was different than the others. The boy wore a royal blue jacket over a loose-fitting gray t-shirt. His hair whipped in the wind as he skated. Elia took in the details one by one, memorizing them to the best of his ability. The boy cuffed his jeans at the bottom. He wore knee pads but not a helmet or anything on his elbows. When he smiled, he revealed a set of shiny white teeth that could put the sun to shame. The boy performed what Gio would call an FS Disaster, although Elia only recognized it as a difficult kind of jump, landed, and looked back at Elia directly.

At that point, Elia didn’t know what he felt about the situation. He stuck around anyway after Gio and Marti left. At the end of two hours alone, when the sun had gone down and the rest of the skaters had headed home, the boy came over and sat down beside him on the bench. They hardly spoke. When their lips connected, it didn’t feel bad, so Elia didn’t stop him. 

Thirty minutes. At least. Elia found his hands tangled in the boy’s hair, grasping at his jacket, wrapped around his neck. When the boy got up to leave, he wanted to stop him… but who could be sure it was what he really wanted? Perhaps the night air was making him think irrationally, or the fact that this was his first was making him sentimental. He let the boy go.

But he started cuffing his jeans.

**ii.**

The second time Elia kissed a boy, neither one of them got to keep the memory. He met Hugo outside of Edoardo’s party at three in the morning, drunk out of his mind and bumping into everything. The other boy wasn’t in a much better way, and despite their efforts to get each other to the bus station, they ended up stumbling down the street to take a long way home.

Hugo was a pretty blond, the kind of guy that looked out of place no matter where he was, which was why Elia found himself drawn to him in the first place when he saw him on Edo’s porch. He had a peppering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, like he spent a lot of time on holiday somewhere sunny, fingers meant for playing the piano, and a style of dress that gelled with no one else’s. He laughed loudly, unapologetically. If the circumstances had involved less alcohol between them, things might have developed into more.

They walked most of the way back to Elia’s house passing a bottle of vodka back and forth between them. There was a conversation, although not coherent. Hugo asked about Elia’s family, his earring, and his friends. Elia answered the questions and shot back his own. When they finished the first bottle, Elia produced his backup flask to share once more. 

As they arrived outside Elia’s apartment, Hugo leaned in. Elia had kissed a lot of sloppy girls before, but had never been so sloppy himself, and the whole thing felt more like a scene from a horror movie than a kiss goodnight. He didn’t mind so much.

When he awoke the next morning, he couldn’t remember anything from the night before. All he knew was that he felt happy. For a reason he couldn’t quite express, he felt he had to come out to the boys that same week.

**iii.**

The third time Elia kissed a boy, he didn’t get to savor the moment. He came to the event with a girl he liked a lot, with whom he thought he might want something official. She walked away from him within the first ten minutes, leaving him to scan the party for Gio and Eva making out in the corners or Marti and Nico taking shots at the bar.

In the midst of his search, he spotted Marco D’Adaggio across the dance floor. 

There’s always that first crush that makes you realize you’re bisexual, and for Elia, it had been Marco. Marco made him appreciate the veins in boys’ hands. Marco made him wonder at the sharpness of a boy’s jawline. He’d sent thousands of fleeting glances in Marco’s direction during class, over and over for a good three months the previous year. The possibility of reciprocated feelings hit him hard; no boy he’d ever pursued had ended up in a lasting relationship with him. He looked, and found his girl was at the bar making out with Chicco Rodi. So he crossed the floor.

Marco was a black-haired, blue-eyed wonderboy who could pull off a leather jacket with Doc Martins and still didn’t look too hipster. When they kissed in the back room that night, it was almost everything Elia imagined kissing was supposed to be. Hands in each other’s hair. Lips trailed along collarbones. Breathing, gasping, breathing. Perfect.

Marco leaned in close, so Elia could feel breath on his neck, and said, “We can keep this going, so long as you don’t tell anyone.”

And then it wasn’t perfect. Elia wasn’t about to be anyone’s secret. He left the bar by himself immediately afterward, without the girl he brought and without seeing any of his friends. 

Marco didn’t try to call him.

**iv.**

The fourth time Elia kissed a boy, it happened in the light of day, on a swing, with no alcohol coursing through his veins or weed pumping at his heart.

After months of seeing Filippo across parties, he’d gotten the nerve to approach him alone for a chat on the couch. It was nice, Elia felt, to have someone to talk to who understood him. Without an agenda. Without needing to be drunk. Without being a stranger or a secret or assertive. When talking became a normality, and there weren’t enough parties to do it consistently, Elia invited Filippo to hang out with their friends. The older boy was practically a part of the crew before Elia decided to hang out with him on his own.

And then, in the park, on a warm summer day where the light shone off of Filippo’s hair and glinted off his piercings, everything fell right into place where it was supposed to be. Elia’s eyes locked on the cognac-brown of Filippo’s, and they both knew what they wanted to happen. They kissed. 

It might have been the fourth time Elia kissed a boy, but it felt like the first. Never before had he felt this much with a person– not with the skater boy, not with wasted Hugo, not with picture-perfect Marco, not with any of the girls he’d ever loved. As he kissed Filippo, he understood why people liked kissing so much. He understood how much he’d been missing out on by kissing the wrong people.

It lasted over half an hour. They walked home together, no stumbling or staggering, and no hiding either. 

Moreover, when he woke up in bed the next morning, Filippo hadn’t gone away.


End file.
